


the space between monsters and men

by Orichals, rabbit_in_a_lizard_mask



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Blood and Gore, Bonding, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Foster Parent Phil Watson, Gen, Horror, Immortality, Light Angst, Near Death Experiences, SBI endgame, Sitcom, but it's a present theme, mildish, yes it's both of those
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29281785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orichals/pseuds/Orichals, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabbit_in_a_lizard_mask/pseuds/rabbit_in_a_lizard_mask
Summary: Technoblade, asleep for years and hungering for human flesh, is woken up by the scent of blood and fear.A block away, Phil and his foster children adjust to their new home, recovering from an adventure in an old slaughterhouse which turned out to be a little more than they bargained for, unaware of what's coming.Blood for the Blood God.Blood for the Blood God,the voices murmured approvingly, filling the space around him with barely audible whispers.Decision made, Techno grinned. Time to pay his new neighbours their first and only visit.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 80
Kudos: 116





	1. Welcome to the Neighbourhood

**Author's Note:**

> this was a _crazy_ amount of fun to work on with Orichals! I'm so hyped for where this goes

“Aww, Tommy, are you scared of buildings now?” Wilbur’s voice was half distorted by the wind that blew through the shallow forest, whipping through Tommy’s thin jacket.

“Shut up!” Tommy said, pressed up to an old chain link fence and peering through one of the gaps at the run-down building. It had an implacable sense of  _ spite _ about it, as if it was staying in (relatively) one piece due to rage rather than any particularly good construction. There was not a single piece of metal that wasn’t completely overtaken by rust. The windows rattled in their panes every time the wind blew. It  _ loomed _ . Tommy shivered, and pretended it was because of another gust of wind.

“You’re really saying this isn’t ominous? I’ve never seen a more ominous place than this.”

“It’s not ominous, it’s just some old building.” Wilbur sighed.

“You sure? Your brain okay, big guy?” Tommy waved his phone at Wilbur as if it was an obscure medical instrument that could tell just how disturbed he was.

“I bet it was a factory, or a warehouse. There’s not going to be any fucking ghosts, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t know that!”

Wilbur laughed. “Sure.” He turned on his heel and started walking back down the gravel road. “Have fun getting back home on your own.”

“Wait- Wilbur! You can’t do that, bitch!” Tommy caught him by the edge of his coat, tugging on it like an overgrown toddler. “I don’t even know where this  _ is, _ you can’t  _ leave _ me!”

“Tom - Tommy. We’re like 2 blocks away from the house. How do you not know where we are?” Wilbur pinched his nose. 

“Well, I’m not a geography nerd!” Tommy said, glaring.

“Tommy. There’s being a geography nerd and then there’s not knowing where our  _ house _ is.”

“WE MOVED IN LAST WEEK! SHUT UP!”

___

Tommy’s room was blue and plain. The old curtains drawn over the windows faded from black into an ice grey, and a completely barren bookshelf sat in a corner. 

Wilbur’s sudden entrance was the only thing giving it a spark of life. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy. Guess what that old building was?” Wilbur laughed and leaned over the desk, getting a better angle to loom over Tommy.

“Why are you smiling like that, bitch? Was it a brothel? Wait, wait, no, a McDonalds? A McDonalds, yeahhh. That would be great, I wanna go to a haunted McDonalds.”

Wilbur raised his eyebrows. “...No, both of those are horrible guesses. Who even are you?”

“I’m Tommy, your dearest darling brother? - Is the amnesia worse today? Sit down, sit down, don’t strain your body or your brain will work even worse.” 

Wilbur snorted. “Shut up - don’t call me your brother, I will cry - let’s get back to business. Look at me. Look into my eyes.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Just do it.” Smirking, Wilbur continued. “That building was once an old slaughterhouse, and it was shut down after the partially eaten remains of three people were found in the pig pens and a further  _ five  _ disappearances were traced there!”

“What - WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE SHIT?” Tommy sat bolt upright. Wilbur backed away rapidly. “You can’t just tell me this and leave!”

“I can and I have. Have fun sleeping tonight - isn’t your room the closest?” Wilbur waved, ignoring Tommy’s shouts for him to “GET BACK HERE” as he closed the door and held it shut against Tommy’s attempts to open it. 

___

Tommy stepped into Wilbur’s (much more well decorated) room later that night, and Wilbur’s head immediately turned at how heavily he was breathing. He looked pale. 

“Wilbur. There  _ are  _ ghosts and I  _ hate  _ you!”

“Oh?” Wilbur stood up and stretched. “Have you seen them? Did they give you evidence? I’m going to need some documented proof in order to believe this.”

“Do you think the  _ blood all over the lawn _ works?”

“The  _ what?” _

“The blood! Can you hear me Wilbur? I said blood!”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, but couldn’t quite stifle the doubt on his way to the window. The slaughterhouse was still pretty spooky. 

“There’s nothing out there, T-”

His voice died in his throat. Dark black splotches covered the lawn and surrounding flowerbeds. It wasn’t blood. It was a stupid prank. Ink or something. Dye. Maybe pig’s blood from the butcher.

Those bones -  _ pig _ bones, much to his relief - were  _ unsettling  _ after learning they lived next to a slaughterhouse, though.

“See?  _ See? _ Ghosts! Ghosts are real! Bitch!”

“The neighbours here must be terrible people.” Wilbur shook his head sadly. “They even noticed a child lived here and decided to make things extra gory.” He mock shouted, “ _ You could have just put tape on the doorways, idiots! _ ”

“I am NOT a child, fuck you! You’re only a year older than me! …You really think it’s just a prank?” Tommy looked genuinely scared.

Wilbur blinked and reconsidered his options. He put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “Hey, do you really think ghosts would decide to haunt people who went and stared at an old abandoned building literally one time, from the road?"

“What else would they do? Go watch movies? Play Halo or something? Do it. Fucking, fucking picture Jason sitting down and playing World of Warcraft, bitch.”

“I can imagine that and it’s very funny. Good effort.”

“Shut up.” Tommy quieted and poked Wilbur in the shoulder. “Look look look, something’s happening!”

“If it’s not ghosts doing synchronized swimming I’m not interested - Tommy, that’s just the wind.”

“But the bones! They’re moving!”

“The whole thing is just some local teenagers being dicks. Hazing. It’s nothing, don’t scream or they’ll keep doing it.”

“They can’t be making everything shudder like  _ that," _ Tommy said defensively, still looking wary.

Wilbur opened the window and Tommy shrieked. “It’s windy. I told you so. Now let’s forget about this, or tell Phil. That is, if you want to let him know you think  _ ghosts  _ exist and freaked out over a prank.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

“But, listen, Tommy, if we don’t tell Phil, you get to see his face as he notices all this. I wonder if he’ll go get his sword.” Wilbur was obviously joking, but Tommy still sputtered. “No, no, don’t worry. I’ll go get him.” Wilbur pushed Tommy away, then screamed. “PHIIILLLLLLLL!”

“What happened to ‘I’ll go get him?’” Tommy wondered aloud. 

Wilbur shrugged. “It decided to leave me, just like everyone else in my life.” Tommy glared.

“What is it?” Phil called from downstairs.

“BLOOD.”

“WHAT?”

“BLOOD!”

Footsteps could be heard after a few seconds of silence, and Phil appeared behind them. “Blood?” he asked, impressively calm. 

“Yeah, in the yard.” Wilbur pointed outside and Phil blanched.

“Was it… neighbours?”

“Probably,” Wilbur said.

_ "Oh come on," _ Tommy hissed under his breath.

Phil rubbed his chin. “Maybe we should’ve looked into the neighborhood a little more strenuously before deciding to move here. Things like “who are we next to” and “are they students” could’ve been useful.”

“You… didn’t do that?” Wilbur asked skeptically.

“Not really, no. It looked nice enough!”

The kids groaned. 

“Anyways,” Tommy said, “Do you think university students really have pounds of pig bones lying around? They have tests and shit, yeah. I could see if there was a ghost university student. Maybe he missed finals and died of stress. So much stress it gave him the urge to  _ kill.” _

Wilbur groaned. “Ghosts aren’t  _ real,  _ Tommy. University is all too real. Which is more likely?”

“When I was in university, I helped glue the furniture of an entire lecture hall to the ceiling,” Phil recalled. “This doesn’t seem  _ too  _ unlikely for a weird prank.”

Tommy’s eyes lit up. “Can you glue our furniture to the ceiling? Phil, that would be so pog!”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Tommy, it’s like moving in except then we don’t get to sit down on the couch afterwards.”

“Shut up, Wilbur.  _ Can _ we?”

Phil laughed and shook his head. “It was a lot of work. Ask me when I’m old enough to reminisce about all the fucked up university stuff I did and laugh instead of feeling tired.”

“You can get older than this?” Tommy dodged as Wilbur tried to swat him halfheartedly. 

“Don’t antagonize the food man. He could send us back to the system if you piss him off.”

“If I was going to send you back to another foster home for insulting my age you’d’ve been out of this house faster than you moved in, kiddo,” Phil smiled at Tommy but his eyes were a little sad.

“Yeaahhh, yeah! That gives me so much more confidence. Phil, you are ancient. You’re so ancient. You should just write a will and leave everything to us, you never know when you’ll get a heart attack and die. Of old age. Make sure you leave a lot more to me than Wilbur.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that.” Phil sighed, holding back laughter.

Wilbur shook his head sadly, stifling a smile. “It’s too late. Tommy’s sensed blood. It’s alright though, we shouldn’t hold you to such high standards at your age, some mistakes like that are expected.”

Phil snorted. “Good one.”

“You did die to a fucking baby zombie in your secret hardcore world,” Wilbur said. “If you were a younger man I don’t think that would have happened.”

“It always goes back to Minecraft whenever you’re making fun of me, huh?” Phil smiled wryly

“It  _ is _ your last name, according to Tommy.”

Tommy jumped in. “It is and you’ve been distracting us from the truth! I’d only allow ‘Watson’ if you watched the Sherlock Holmes series, bitch.”

“I… have watched that. I swear I have.” Phil looked fondly exasperated. “Anyway, I’ll call the city about the... blood and bones situation. Do you want to go to the living room?”

“Sure.”

___

  
  


“Tubbo, Tubbo you’ll never guess what the fuck just happened.” Tommy held his phone in trembling hands.

“What? What is it? Why are you calling so late?” Tubbo’s bleary voice echoed around as if he was speaking through a pillow.

“Well, I found  _ ghosts,  _ Tubbo _. _ Ghosts that are very real and definitely not college students. Tubbo, they’re not college students, no college students would make fake blood and dump it on a random lawn and then buy 20 pounds of bones to make it look more ominous.”

_ “What?” _

“Good, you actually sound shocked! Phil just talked about how old he was for twenty minutes, and Wilbur explained what college was - I feel like I’m the only one taking this seriously, Tubbo!”

“I sound shocked because I have no idea what you just said. What was that - blood?”

“Blood! And bones! I walked outside, and Tubbo, Tubbo, it looked like they robbed a bone factory. Multiple bone factories. Maybe even the one by our house.”

“What - the  _ what _ by your house?”

“The slaughterhouse where eight people died, keep up, Tubbo.”

Tubbo laugh-sobbed. “I’m so confused right now.”

“You should be, I was also very confused. Basically me and Wilbur went for a walk, found an old building, found out said building was used for murder, and then this morning found blood and bones in our yard. Yet,  _ some  _ people - Phil and Wilbur - seem to think this is a  _ very normal occurrence _ and that screaming and running for our lives is  _ silly!” _

Tubbo hummed. “Sucks that I can’t be there.”

“You - what! Why would you want to be in the murder house?!”

“I don’t know, it sounds exciting! Don’t judge me.”

“I’ll judge you if I want to! I’m judging you! You and your desire to be in the creepy house that’s being haunted by a ghost - possibly several - that are leaving  _ blood and bones everywhere. _ You’re a coward anyway, you wouldn’t like it.”

“You’re the one calling me for moral support. But yeah.”

Tommy snorted. “I’d like to see you try to give someone moral support, Tubbo. Your little arms would give out like twigs. Like twig arms.”

“Mhmm.” Tubbo went silent for a second. “How’s Phil? Is he still nice? How’s the town?”

“Phil won’t let me tie the furniture to the ceiling, so no, definitely not nice. Don’t go near that guy. The town is pretty pog, though, if I do say so myself. I’ve gained so many girlfriends already, Tubbo.”

“You say that and then I never meet these people.”

“They’re scared of you, Tubbo. That’s the problem. Women fear you.”

_ “Really? I have so much power.” _

“Oh, that’s… that's one way to put it. Personally if women were scared of me I’d just die.”

“Then perish. Tommy, I hate to leave you with the bones - well, hate is the polite word, it’s actually quite nice that the serial killers get to deal with you instead of me bearing that responsibility - but I’m tired and I should go to sleep. I was asleep. 10 minutes ago.”

“Sleep is for the weak, big T.”

“And I am very weak, as you tell me. Bye, Tommy!” The call ended.

Tommy scrubbed a hand through his hair. Tubbo had already abandoned him, this was terrible. Where do you turn for advice when all your friends disregard the obviously real ghosts right in front of their eyes? Well, the internet. 

Tommy pulled out his laptop and googled ‘ghost proofing tips.’ It turned out there was a lot of overlap between people who believed in ghosts (sensible, what he’s looking for) and people who believed in  _ bullshit _ (so completely not what he wants here.)

‘Granite is a stone that retains energy,’ one website read. Another recommended burning sage and sprinkling salt around doorways, which was at least  _ ghost-related.  _ Unfortunately, one crystal website led to another, and… Tommy gave up at the third “natural rejuvenation” ritual for “cleansing the soul and uplifting the spirit.” 

“Why is everyone on the internet an  _ idiot?” _

A thump on the wall he shared with Wilbur said that that might’ve been too loud for this late at night. He thumped back, half in apology and half because he wasn’t just gonna  _ let _ Wilbur get away with banging on his wall to shut him up. He wasn’t a  _ pussy. _

“I refuse to buy overpriced crystals for their ‘natural ghost repellant benefits,’” Tommy grumbled to himself more quietly, and shut his laptop. Engaging ghosts in hand to hand combat would be  _ much  _ easier than researching things, he was sure about that. 

___

  
  


A text from Tubbo came the next morning. ‘You really aren’t going to go explore the haunted house you live beside?’

‘No, I’d rather do anything but that’

‘I thought you were cooler than this’ Tubbo texted back, and Tommy glared at his phone.

‘I’m so cool, you just can’t comprehend how cool I am, bitch.’

Tommy stormed downstairs and looked for Wilbur, but only Phil was around, sitting at the brand new dining room table and having cereal. Tommy showed him his phone. “Tubbo thinks going into old crime scenes is a fun and healthy idea for continued survival.”

Phil hummed. “I don’t know, it  _ does  _ sound kind of fun.” He grinned at Tommy’s horrified expression. “There really wouldn’t be anything there, Tommy. I swear. Just spooks.”

“Yes there would be! I’m really the only one here with common sense, huh? It’s such a taxing responsibility. I should get a raise in allowance, you know that Phil?”

“Sure, Tommy, sure. Anyways, do you want to go explore the place?”

“WHAT? You’re still on this? I don’t want to explore it, no!”

Wilbur popped into the kitchen with a smile on his lips. “Phil. Phil, are you proposing a true crime field trip?”

“Oh, definitely.”

Tommy deflated. “Why are you guys like this?”

“I’m sure there are many reasons,” Wilbur said blithely. “But I’ll go ahead and ignore them. Phil, you want to do this today?”

“Perhaps, perhaps. I’m not back to work yet, so it’s a good day for this kind of thing.” Phil finished the last few bites of his breakfast and walked over to dump the empty bowl in the sink. “Tommy, I am sort of serious about doing this. I mean, I think it’ll be fun. But you definitely don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Tommy grumbled. “No, no. No, I can’t let Wilbur kill himself because he doesn’t take things seriously.” His eyes lit up. “You know what? If you’re going to go try and mess around like this and you don’t believe in ghosts, I’ll just have to prove you wrong. I won’t accept this!”

“Alright, Tommy, have fun with that,” Wilbur said, shooting a dry look at Phil. 

“Have you boys eaten breakfast already?” he asked.

Tommy wasn’t hungry in the mornings, but Wilbur still needed to eat something. He went to get oatmeal out of the cupboard.

“We’re going this morning then?” Wilbur wondered.

“I mean, if you guys want to.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’d like to put this off as long as possible, but, fine I guess. Fucking fine.” Tommy left the kitchen. “I’m going to go get some knives, don’t mind me.”

“Even if there were ghosts,” Wilbur said, “do you really think you can kill them with... knives?”

“Oh yeah, of course. What else do you kill a ghost with?”

“Mm, a gun maybe.”

Tommy sniffed dismissively and headed up the stairs.  _ Flashlight. Coat. Swiss army knife. Camera. Butcher knife.  _ This was going to be terrible (and maybe amazing.) 

“...Phil’s sword. Phil’s sword! I’m a genius!” Tommy rushed over to Phil’s room and opened the closet, tipping clothes onto the floor as he searched for the boxed weapons.

_ There they were. _ One wooden sword for kendo, one steel katana that he wasn’t allowed to touch. The training sword would do, considering Tommy really, really, didn’t want to go back to a group home. “Oh, I’m going to be awesome. The ghosts will fear me, they’ll just piss all over in fear.” He laughed and lifted the sword out of its box. Phil was such a weeb. It was remarkably handy sometimes. 

Tommy waved it around once or twice, just for experimental purposes, but quickly lowered it when it nearly hit the lightbulb. The door clicked. 

“Ahh shit!” Tommy jumped and glanced back sheepishly. “Philza… Minecraft…. Fancy seeing you here!”

“That’s not my name, but yes. Fancy running into you in  _ my room.” _

Tommy winced, despite the amused sparkle in Phil’s eye. 

“Is the sword to deal with ghosts? Or did you decide to have an unrelated sparring match with the air?”

“If neither you nor Wilbur will take this seriously, I gotta be the big man and keep us safe! Of  _ course _ it’s for the ghost- wait, ghosts? You think there’s more than one?”

He shrugged. “I don’t. But if ghosts did exist, then I don’t see why just one would stick around. Sounds lonely.”

“Phil, don’t say these things. You’re going to make me steal the other sword too.”

“Don’t you touch that one, you could hurt yourself. Try again after taking classes for two years.”

“And it would be terrible if your cosplay got wrecked, huh. I know the truth, don’t try to hide it from me!”

“What.”

“Nothing, nothing. I know nothing.” Tommy winked exaggeratedly. 

“No, no, hold on. Did you just call me a weeb?”

“No, that part’s obvious. I called you a  _ cosplayer,  _ bitch.”

Phil tried to hide his laughter in his hands but it was still obvious, and Tommy grinned in triumph.

“I’ve been found out! I only took martial arts classes so I could have a more believable cosplay for Urahara. This is the longest con that’s ever been run. You exposed the truth at long last.”

“Phil.  _ Phil. _ Who’s Urahara.”

Phil sputtered. “Wait, wait, forget you heard anything.”

Tommy slipped past him, sword clenched tightly in his hands. “I’m going to go look that up, Philza. I’m going to look up ‘Philza’ too. You’ve been hiding so many secrets, I fucking knew it.” Tommy was amazed he still had the sword, but if Phil wasn’t going to mention it then Tommy wouldn’t bring it up either. No use trying his luck.

Phil raised an eyebrow. “Well, first of all I’m a serial killer and I suggested we all go to the abandoned slaughterhouse so that I could kill you and Wilbur there, hide the bodies, skip town and then do it all again three years later. Does that help?”

“That was too detailed, Phil. I have so much more research to do now. I hate you.”

“Might be hard to google things with my sword, you’ll have to put it down. And leave yourself vulnerable.  _ Mwahahaha _ .” 

“No fucking way murder man. Murderza. Killza. Killza! Oh, that’s an amazing name, I’m using that again. This is my sword, you can get a new one when you go to prison for your numerous crimes.”

“I’m only going to have one crime and that’s going to be mugging a child to get my own shit back. Sword.  _ Now _ .” Phil gentled his voice. “I’m already regretting this, but I  _ will  _ take it with us. But  _ I  _ want to hang onto it, kay?”

“Really?” Tommy jumped up. “I can go ghost hunting with the cosplay sword?”

“...No.”

“I mean the wood one, Phil, don’t be a bitch.”

“Against my better judgement, yes you can use the shinai. Once we get there,” Phil clarified.

“YES!”

___

“Phil, why does Tommy get the sword and I don’t?” Wilbur complained as gravel crunched underfoot.

“He… asked first, I guess.” Phil shrugged.

“Do I get it if I defeat him in hand to hand combat?”   


Tommy bristled. “Oh,  _ try _ me bitch! I’ve got a sword and you don’t!”

“Phil, can I borrow the katana? Just for a second?”

“No, do not touch the katana, it’s sharp and I don’t want either of you getting hurt.” Phil looked up at the chain fence and started to head closer to the road in order to find the gate.

“He said it’s for his very important cosplay, Wilbur. He does it while we’re out.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake-”

“You  _ cosplay, _ Phil? You never mentioned anything about  _ cosplaying.” _ Wilbur’s eyes were wide and innocent. Phil rolled his eyes.

“I also mentioned the serial killing. Enjoy your teasing while it lasts, kids.”

Wilbur was genuinely worried for half a second before noticing the smirk playing around Phil’s lips. Although, he’d deny to his dying breath any idea of being afraid of Phil ‘because Phil’s a weeb and so not scary,’ the man did have a sword. A very sharp one.

“Guys, I found the gate,” Phil announced. Then, he brought out the bolt cutters. Wilbur choked. Phil shot him a look. “What? How’d you think we were going to get in? There’s a padlock.”

“Not anymore there isn’t. Not for  _ this _ gate.” Wilbur said. “How did you ever get cleared to be a foster parent? I’m more and more convinced you used to work for the mob.”

“It only costs like $12,000 for a fake identity if you know the right people.”

“What the  _ fuck?” _ Tommy yelped, spinning to face Phil, who carefully ignored him as he snipped through the padlock.

The hinges screeched hideously as he pushed the ancient rusted gates open for the first time in who knew how long, setting their teeth on edge.

“No, seriously, what the  _ fuck?” _

Phil flashed Tommy a grin.

“Be careful going through, guys. There could be old nails inside the courtyard, you never know.” 

“Yeah,” Wilbur agreed. “Don’t do anything stupid, Tommy.” He went through the entrance before anyone else. Tommy figured doing that kind of thing probably meant Wilbur would be the first to die if this was a horror movie, so he was okay with that.

Tommy darted after his brother in order to argue. “He was talking to both of us, bitch boy! Actually, no. Everyone knows I am completely responsible and would never let that happen.”

Phil sighed. “No, Tommy, I really was sorta talking to you specifically. Not because you’re clumsier than Wilbur, but more that you seem the type of person that nails would end up stabbing.”

_ “What?” _

Tommy was so outraged he took several steps toward Phil without watching where he was going. He did  _ not _ trip. He did not. Tommy definitely didn’t trip headlong over a clearly visible mouldering piece of machinery and nearly impale himself on a nail  _ right _ next to his head, and if Phil could stop laughing so hard so he could explain that, it would be  _ wonderful. _

“Oh, oh my god. You just-  _ immediately _ after I said it-” Phil dissolved into laughter again.

“I hate you.”

“Honestly that’s fair. But,  _ god,  _ that was funny.”

Tommy huffed. “It’s not even a nail, it’s just, like, a piece of metal. I bet it’s not even that sharp.”

He poked the tip of it with his finger and yanked it back, blood welling up. 

“OW!”

Phil was having trouble  _ breathing, _ he was laughing so hard. “Tom, Tommy, Tommy. You - you have your tetanus shots, right? Please have your tetanus shots. Oh my  _ god _ , this is amazing.”

“I’m going to go find Wilbur,” Tommy announced, and climbed to his feet, loftily ignoring Phil.

“Wait, I really do need to know if you had those shots!” Phil’s voice sounded hoarse from laughter, but he was obviously a little concerned.

“HE DID!” Wilbur called from the rusted machinery he was examining.

As Tommy fully stood and took a step forward, he felt a sudden rush of dizziness. Instead of the usual black that crept into his vision, a red froth lurked in the edges of his sight. That was fucking  _ trippy. _

Tommy closed his eyes, then pinched himself to shake it off and strode over to Wilbur. “Eyy big man, found any bones?”

“No, but look. That bit of metal has a date on it, and it’s from the year 1812, like the overture! It must’ve been produced only a few years before this place went out of business. Isn’t that cool?”

“Phil is a weeb, but you’re worse. You’re a nerd, Wilbur. A nerd and a dick. I hope that fact haunts you.”

“You… don’t take my interests seriously, Tommy? That hurts. That really hurts. Rephrase: this might’ve been made at the same time as someone was being murdered.”

“Wait, really?! That’s pogchamp!”

Wilbur glared without heat. “I can’t tell you  _ anything. _ ”

“You shouldn’t, that would make my life so much easier…” Tommy trailed off. “Hey, Wilbur, Wilbur, do you want to go inside now?” Tommy’s eyes had fixated on the actual door to the dilapidated building, which was in one piece against all expectation.

“You have no patience at all, do you.”

Tommy dashed away. “Patience is for the weak, Wil!” 

The door stuck when Tommy tried opening it, so he rammed into it with his shoulder, ending up knocking the whole door off its hinges. The  _ clatter _ of the metal on the floor sounded unnaturally loud in the chokingly stale air. Tommy could practically feel dust settling on his skin.

“Well, that wasn’t… too hard…”

Tommy’s mouth went dry (well, drier) as the air cleared enough for him to finally make out what was inside.

_ Oh. Right. Slaughterhouse. _ Meat hooks hung on the walls, some with partially dismembered bodies on them. Blood dripped from a table into a puddle on the floor, and a body of a pig lay upon it, throat slashed.

Tommy whimpered as quietly as he could, and then flat out screamed. “FUCK!” He scrambled backwards and fell through the doorway, chest heaving.

“We’re leaving we’re leaving we’re leaving oh my god  _ oh my god we need to get out of here!” _

Somebody grabbed Tommy’s shoulder, and before he could see who it was he tried to sock them in the face. His sword still sat in a bag over his shoulder. 

“Tommy, Tommy, it’s Phil. Calm down, mate, what is it?” 

The man’s face blurred into view, and he was clearly worried. Tommy’s hands clenched and he suddenly grabbed Phil’s wrists, squeezing them tightly. “ _ Fucking blood, Phil,  _ we need to go _.” _

“Phil, there’s nothing in here,” Wilbur’s voice rang out. Tommy refused to admit it might be comforting.

Phil pulled Tommy closer to him. “Hey, it’s okay, mate. I’m sorry I brought you here, Tommy.”

“ _ No,  _ it’s - how is there nothing?” Tommy’s voice was shaking, something between fear and anger. “Wilby, are you telling the truth?’

“I swear, Tommy. It’s creepy, but there’s nothing unusual, really.”

“Re-really?” he faltered.

Wilbur nodded, then quickly realized Tommy wouldn’t be able to see it and spoke. “Really.”

“Oh.” Tommy let go of Phil and tried not to shake.  _ Wilbur wasn’t lying.  _ “Of - of course there’s nothing. Did I scare you guys? Did I?” He forced a weak smile. It wasn’t convincing at all, was it?

Phil just hummed and looked concerned. Wilbur was stoic, confused. Tommy almost felt guilty for seeing whatever-that-was and stressing them out, if it weren’t for the fact that Men didn’t feel guilt.

“Can I walk over there too, Tommy? Would that be okay?” Phil shuffled away at Tommy’s shallow nod, and they headed toward Wilbur together. Phil looked within the newly and permanently opened doorway first. “Wilbur’s right, somehow. It’s kinda creepy, but tame.” 

Tommy peered inside the cavernous insides of the slaughterhouse,  _ not _ holding onto Wilbur for emotional support. “Oh,” he whispered.

Everything was empty. It was obviously the same room, but everything had become washed out and grey, no gore to be seen. The meat hooks were all there, as was the table, but the bodies and blood had vanished. The table where the pig had lain had a dark brown stain on it, like way more ominious spilt coffee.

“Okay?” Wilbur asked, hand resting comfortingly on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Mhm.”

“You feel like leaving now, or…?” Phil trailed off. 

There was a second of silence before Tommy felt up to speaking. “I mean, you brought fucking tools for this and everything. I can walk into one little room, it’s fine. I’m not a pussy.”

“You say that a lot, I know,” Wilbur said flatly. 

Tommy didn’t think they’d believe him about it now. To redeem himself, he steeled his courage, and opened the bag on his back. “It’s time for the fucking sword, boys! I  _ will  _ stab if you get close enough to me, so don’t do it.”

Phil and Wilbur looked unsure at the return of Tommy’s grandstanding, but they followed him when he decided to barge through and actually enter the building. 

“Hooks,” Wilbur said. “Those are rather terrifying.”

Phil’s attention immediately got drawn to one specific corner, hidden behind an assembly line-like conveyor belt. “Bones. Those are... bones.”

“More terrifying.” Wilbur finished, and grimaced. “I can’t believe someone just left them there. Bad hygiene practices, you’d think.”

“You’re looking at  _ those _ bones?!” Tommy shouted. “Look on the floor there!” He elbowed Wilbur in the stomach, raising his sword with both hands as Wilbur doubled over. “That’s a fucking pig skull!”

“Oh, shit,” Wilbur said.

“That’s so weird,” Phil muttered. “Why didn’t this stuff get taken away? When this place was cleared out, you’d think they’d do that.”

“I bet it was laziness,” Wilbur said. “Why take the extra bits with you if you could just leave them lying around?”

“You’d think they’d, fuck, I don’t know, have a little more respect for the people breaking in,” Tommy sniffed. “I demand better working conditions.”

Phil laughed, then walked forwards and tried a door against the far wall. It was locked, and he shot a look at Tommy. “No one is running head first into this one, alright?” As Phil and Wilbur tried the other doors, Tommy felt comforted by the sword he had in his hands and the fact that it was quite nice and easy to swing. That was, until Phil looked back at him and frowned. 

“You’re holding that wrong, Tommy. Your hands need to be higher on the hilt - and you should move your feet, being in the correct stance helps a lot -” Phil walked over and manually fixed his positioning.

Tommy stared. “You. You should have done this earlier! How many times could I have been killed by ghosts by now, Phil?  _ How many times ? ”  _

“...Maybe a few times. Just once or twice.” 

“For the last time, you can’t fight ghosts with a sword, Tommy!” Wilbur butted in. “They’re literally not solid.”   


“Yeah, right, like I believe that. That’s what they’ll tell me as they beg for their lives, ‘Oh, I’m not solid, don’t bother cutting my head off.’ That’s how they get you, Wil.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Phil said. “Want to head out, guys?”

Tommy would never admit it, but his shoulders relaxed at that. “Sure. This is just getting boring, you know? I demand more stabbing shit.”

“Yeah, we can go,” Wilbur said.

“Okay. Follow me, boys.” Phil strode to the door.

Tommy couldn’t resist a last glance back at the slaughterhouse interior. The pig skull winked at him, locked in an eternal grin. He clamped his hands over his mouth,  _ barely _ managing to stifle the shout of panic.

“You alright, Toms?”

“I’m- I’m fine!” Tommy said, eyes locked to the beetle crawling out of the skull’s eyesocket. He would never have questioned it earlier, but now there was a chance that it simply wasn’t real - and if even it was, he doubted anyone else could see it. “Let’s go.”

Blood dripped from his hand to the ground, but Tommy never noticed it.

___

In the unexplored basement of the slaughterhouse, a god awoke. He could sense the blood spilt on the edges of his territory. It was in his nature. Last time he’d been trespassed against he had slaughtered a town, sparing none - there were cameras to serve the role of witness. Fear was so easy to cultivate now, it was almost trivial. Humans would terrify  _ each other  _ with rumours of the Blood God. He was a god, a spirit, a monster that lay resting under the bed, and he  _ revelled  _ in it. 

Technoblade stretched lazily, testing his full range of motion, and yawned. He was  _ hungry. _ And no one had woken him up in a year or more. 

“My gift cards have gotta be expired by now. This is terrible.”


	2. Meeting the Neighbour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have to say, I think this is my favourite chapter out of the five or so we've written yet so far  
> \- Orichals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: there's a bit more gore in this chapter then there was last time, just a heads up  
> also cw for choking, and some violence :)

Technoblade hummed, letting the rhythmic  _ schnt _ of the cleaver being sharpened lull him into a meditative state. This family was interesting. Blood on the ground had woken him, but they didn’t seem to know anything about him or even realize where they  _ were. _ The loud kid would raise a good alarm, and he screamed enough for the other two not to get concerned immediately if he saw Techno, which would work nicely - especially if he showed himself to the kid a couple of times and then hid when the others came past.

A prank. Honestly. They really fully expected to walk away from this.

The last time he didn’t at least maul the survivor was  _ several  _ decades ago.

Which one to let go, though?

It was always so nice when there was one person left alive, to tell the tale of the creature that had slaughtered their family in the night. The infamy was lovely.  _ Blood for the Blood God. _

_ Blood for the Blood God, _ the voices murmured approvingly, filling the space around him with barely audible whispers. 

Not the adult. He wouldn’t scream and panic like the kids would. He’d just shove it down and get himself into therapy, and that was no fun to watch. Loud child or beanie child, then?

The loud one would ruin himself quickly and absolutely, there was no question about that. It would be pathetic. Techno could already picture the aftershocks of the event playing across the boy's face, the absolute despair, the cracking facade of arrogance, the pained cries. He knew what to expect from the loud child and he knew it well. 

Beanie would be more interesting. He probably prided himself on being calm, smart, reasonable, that was a common theme in those with such traits. If he  _ broke,  _ he'd never admit it, and he'd hide it well. Techno wondered what it would take to make him lose his grasp on sanity entirely. Whatever it was, it’d be  _ spectacular. _

Decision made, Techno grinned. Time to pay his new neighbours their first and only visit.

__

Phil sighed, dragging his hand down his face. Some days, being a foster parent was shit. Some days, every interaction with the kids was a jaunt through a minefield, and they didn’t even blow up visibly all the time. Ranboo had never blown up at  _ him, _ but the number of occasions he’d found him stretched out on the roof clutching his houseplants and listening to a warped recording of Mellohi after a conversation Phil had thought went well was… far too high.

He’d known the trip to the abandoned slaughterhouse was going to freak Tommy out, but he hadn’t expected the degree to which he wouldn’t cope. How had he been so stupid? Tommy always joked around, but he, like everyone else, hid kernels of truth in his most lighthearted moments. He’d been legitimately scared, the whole time, and Phil had essentially pressured him into going along with them. The  _ “fucking blood!” _ that Tommy had tried to play off as a joke rang in Phil’s ears - kids in the foster system were almost always traumatised, almost never got proper mental health services, and if Tommy was  _ hallucinating _ he  _ needed  _ it. It could be trauma, it could be anything, and they needed to determine the cause and how regularly this was happening.

The months before Ranboo had gotten therapy and medication for his hallucinations were pretty bad, and that was on  _ Phil’s _ end. Ranboo always tried to play it off, but… the suffering happening behind the scenes had been almost palpable once Phil had figured out some of his tells. 

He’d received the occasional “hey phil can you tell me if there are actually cockroaches all over my floor please?” text for awhile after Ranboo had gone to uni, too. Phil wished he still got texts like that.

Phil wished he still got texts from Ranboo at all.

Despite the stabbing pain in his heart whenever he saw it, Phil still couldn’t delete his number.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his reverie.

“Phil?” 

It was Wilbur. Phil took a deep breath to compose himself, ran a shaky hand through his hair, and went to let him in.

“Hey, Wil. You doing good?”

“I was coming through to ask you that, actually. The child is fine, if you’re wondering about that.”

Wilbur was too perceptive sometimes. Phil wouldn’t be concerned about that if it wasn’t paired with a disconcerting ability to lie whenever he wanted to.

“Thanks, Wilbur.” Phil motioned to a coffee table and mismatched chairs that he kept in one corner of his bedroom, and waited for Wilbur to sit down. “Did you want to ask about anything else?”

“...We’re ordering in tonight, right?”

Phil sighed. “Yes, yes. Please don’t put sand on your pizza this time.”

“Phil, I have never put sand on pizza in my life,” Wilbur said, and Phil’s hopes that he might be normal about this were dashed as he continued, “The sand is a snack for  _ after _ the pizza, putting it directly on just ruins both flavors. You have to be smart about this kind of thing to be a true food connoisseur like I am.”

“Wil, I don’t want to say ‘shut up’, but shut up.”

“Are you silencing me? Is that what this is? Are you persecuting me because I dare to speak the sand truth?”

“Yes.”

“And you admit it! I hope you know anything you say or do from now on may be used against you in a court of law.”

“Are you trying to imply that you’re arresting me?”

Wilbur shrugged. “You admitted your guilt, Phil. I really have no other options here.”

“You could, and this is just a suggestion, stop eating sand?”

“The sand mafia will hunt you down, Philza Minecraft. Protective custody is your best bet.”

Phil snorted. “The sand mafia won’t hunt me down. Because there isn’t a fucking  _ sand mafia _ unless you started it. Wilbur Soot is actually a fairly good mafia boss name, I have to say…”

“I’m being completely genuine here. Google it if you don’t believe me. The sand mafia exists.”

Phil raised an eyebrow and took out his phone.

…  _ Oh, fuck. _

“What the fuck?” Phil stared at the screen in disbelief. It wasn’t just one conspiracy website that could be written off like he’d been expecting. The sand mafia was  _ well known of _ \- in sand circles, of course - and  _ several _ articles had been written on it. That most of them were just explaining that it existed and cited each other as sources was cold consolation.

“I told you about the sand mafia, Phil. I told you. One of these days you’ll finally believe me when I tell you about something completely reasonable like eating sand. And on that day I will have achieved true happiness.”

“That day will never come. You’re doomed to a lifetime of sorrow if you’ve pinned your happiness on me accepting that you  _ eat sand.” _

Wilbur sighed, throwing a hand across his eyes. “Persecution at every turn! … By the way, we should go get the pizza. It should’ve arrived by now and I don’t know about you but I don’t trust Tommy alone in a room with all of our food, so let’s go!”

As they left, Phil smiled. 

“Thanks, Wil.”

Wilbur glanced at him and smiled back.

“I don’t know  _ what _ you’re talking about.”

___

Wilbur finished brushing his teeth and went to get dressed, pajamas shoved haphazardly in his closet as usual. They’d gotten stuck behind a shelf, which really needed to be removed at some point soon because it was terribly off centre. This whole fucking house was a character home, definitely.

Wilbur stumbled, colliding with the wall as his senses flared. There was an odd feeling of  _ pressure _ in his head, like when he’d dived to the bottom of a swimming pool and held his breath. It wasn’t really a headache - yet. It felt more like the start of a test, when stress was the highest.  _ What was happening? _ Wilbur wondered if this was a symptom of carbon monoxide poisoning or something like that. He didn’t really know if the house had been checked for that sort of instability. He left his clothes to their chosen fate, and backed away, almost falling over as the pressure mounted, sending a dull ache through his skull.

He got up to try and get out of the closet, and- and- made eye contact with  _ his ceiling. _ There were  _ eyes on the ceiling. _ Dozens and dozens of them, red as cherries, blinking irregularly. He didn’t scream. He didn’t make a sound. He just stared, his ears ringing at the sudden shock. 

Then he blinked, and it was all gone. The terrible pressure vanished, the eyes closed along with his and did not reopen. His ceiling was still the dull beige it had always been, dotted with stucco because of some awful designer’s bad planning.  _ What the fuck? _

“What the fuck?” Wilbur said aloud to the empty room. He wasn’t sure what to do. Nothing like that had happened to him before, but he hadn’t slept well last night, or the night before then… or much at all in general, honestly. Sleep deprivation caused hallucinations, right? So that could be it. A quick and easy explanation. Nothing was wrong. (Really, Wilbur just didn’t want to consider the possibilities. He wasn’t  _ crazy. _ )

Something about this reminded Wilbur of Tommy’s panic at the slaughterhouse earlier in the day. He figured his subconscious must have held onto that, and then combined with his tiredness, so that  _ whatever that was _ had been produced. It made sense, in a roundabout way. Because it must’ve been what happened.

He opened the door to his room, and leant over in the hallway. Just knowing that Tommy and Phil were close by made things feel a little better.

Wilbur forced himself to calm down and he noticed his heart rate dropping back down to normal levels. That was good enough.

He stepped back into his bedroom, not wanting to cause any questions. It was fine. The eyes obviously weren’t real, regardless of what caused them. There was no reason to still be uncomfortable. There was no reason for the ugly sensation of dread twisting in his stomach to persist.

___

Phil was a bitch, Tommy decided. One little mild freakout and he was treating Tommy like he was made of glass.

He’d been following Tommy around as if he was a dog for almost an hour now. Probably thought he was being subtle about it, too. Every time Tommy left the room Phil mysteriously needed to go do something in that room, too.

“Phil.”

The man in question blinked. “Tommy? You need something?”

“No. But you do. Or else you wouldn’t be following me! Stop it!”

Phil looked confused for half a second before realisation spread across his face. 

“Oh, sorry, Tommy.” He shrugged awkwardly. “Habit, I guess.”

“What habit? Do you stalk people in your spare time?”

“I mean, I try not to do that? That sounds rather illegal.”

“And breaking into an abandoned slaughterhouse with  _ bolt cutters _ is legal?” Tommy snorted. “I’m even more convinced of your criminal history now. How many banks have you robbed? Ever taken someone hostage, Mr. Minecraft?”

“Wh- no, I haven’t even committed tax fraud. I’ve jaywalked before, if that’s what you’re looking for? I’m sure that makes for great blackmail.”

“I hope you know that when you say jaywalk I think ‘car theft’ or ‘illegal border crossing,’” Tommy declared. 

Phil laughed. “Oh god.”

“I’m right and you don’t want to say it.”

“You’re not, but fine. I  _ will  _ say it. Remarkable deductive reasoning, Tommy. I am in fact part of the mafia. Now that you know the truth, I can’t let you continue to live.”

“I’m so scared.”

“I’m sure you are. Now wait right there so I can get my sword.”

“Phil, wait, no, Phil, I retract my statements, stop standing up, we’re good! We’re good.”

Phil stifled a smile, making as if to go for the stairs before laughing and sitting back down with a flourish. “You’ve delayed your downfall one more day, Tomathy.”

“Don’t ever call me Tomathy again. I hate being called Tomathy. It’s not even my name- Thomas is right there!”

“I don’t know, I think I like Tomathy better. Has a nice ring to it.”

“No it doesn’t, it rings horribly! My ears bleed when I hear those syllables, Phil. They bleed.”

Phil laughed. “I’m sure they do.” 

Phil’s eyes were different now. Tommy hadn’t even noticed how stressed he’d been before they started talking, but now he looked relaxed, he looked calm. 

“I’m not going to play this game with you, Philza. You call me Tomathy and I’ll, I’ll scream. I’ll call the child protection agency, oooh, yeah, they’ll really hate you there. You’re like the opposite of a child.”

“Tommy, that’s not -”

“Silence, old man. Silence or I get the phone.”

____

Talking to Tommy always left a warm feeling in Phil’s heart, even when things got a little too repetitive to be anything other than annoying. He was funny, and he knew how to put Phil at ease almost subconsciously. 

Phil was so proud of the kids, even if he’d only known them for half a year. 

He took a dish and a metal spoon out of the cupboard and set them on the table. Ice cream was always a lovely end to the day, and Phil felt like he could use some. He opened the freezer door and  _ slammed _ it shut, heart pounding.

None of the freezer racks were left. An empty, ice encrusted space was all that was made up the inside of his fridge, and the bottom floor was splattered with frozen blood. The source for that was obvious. It had been a pig, a giant, butchered, pig, hanging from a meat hook like the ones he’d seen in the morning. Half of its entrails had been spilling out.

His throat closed on a scream, chest tight.  _ What? _

Phil couldn’t breathe right, couldn't get the stench of copper filling the stale air out of his lungs. He wrapped his hands around the freezer door handle again, and prepared for the onslaught of nausea that he knew he’d experience. “Who’s idea of a cruel joke -” Phil’s words cut off as he cracked the fridge open slightly. Everything was back to normal. There wasn’t even a speck of red, or an empty siding. His ice cream sat on the top shelf, untouched and dusted with tiny ice crystals. Phil reached for it with blind eyes.

The outside world seemed fuzzy and indistinct, the quiet noises of modern life barely reaching his ears. Phil held his ice cream tenderly and sat down, immediately slumping over the table. Psychiatrist appointments,  _ fast. _ Phil knew this was probably prompted by the events of today, but  _ that was intense _ , and  _ realistic _ to the point of horror, and he’d had plenty of secondhand experience dealing with hallucinations, and he  _ knew  _ they didn’t just happen out of nowhere. Or just happen once, and then stop. He was already flipping through all the possible mental problems that prompted things like this, and selfishly wishing he could talk to Ranboo. 

God, he wished he could talk to Ranboo.

___

Tommy had been having a weird day so far. It wasn’t quite a normal occurrence, getting suckered into visiting haunted buildings and then seeing extremely gory visions of said buildings (because they were haunted.) Having his foster family fawn over him for hours afterwards had just been the icing on the cake (even if he liked Phil, that wasn’t supposed to happen. Tommy knew how foster families  _ worked. _ Adults were always either trying to adopt him from the get-go or he was the “con” on the “pros and cons of fostering a kid for money.” Phil was just acting  _ weird.) _

He sighed loudly and grabbed his phone from where he sat in the relative comfort of his bed. Time to watch youtube videos for three hours to get the lingering feeling of excitement (it definitely wasn’t fear, it wasn’t) from the slaughterhouse excursion to go away.

Wilbur had said that seven people were found dead there. Seven whole people. But he could’ve been wrong about that, or he could have been trying to scare Tommy- Wilbur was a  _ prick _ sometimes, that was a very real possibility.

Tommy opened Google. Time to stop just believing Wilbur Liarface Soot, and do his own investigation. “Swindon slaughterhouse”, Tommy said, whispering under his breath as he typed. Oh. There were a lot of headlines under the search results. None of them were good.  _ More Than a Dozen Possibly Killed in Local Slaughterhouse,  _ one read. ‘ _ The True Story of a Small Town Ghost Story’ _ said another. _ ‘A Legacy of Pain: The Swindon Slaughterhouse and Its Unfortunate History’  _ had a subheading of ‘ _ death toll still unknown’. _

If anything, Wilbur had  _ underestimated _ how terrible that place was.

“What the fuck what the shit what the fuck -” Tommy quickly closed Chrome, his heart beating out of his chest.

With his last threads of bravery, he opened Google again.  _ Ghosts of Swindon slaughterhouse _ , he typed, and then he blanched at what came up.  _ Oh fuck.  _ It was a thing. It was very much a thing. So many people had talked about the ghosts that haunted Swindon - so many people had  _ died _ because of the ghosts of Swindon! One thread even had a drawing of a humanoid demonic pig man in a  _ medieval king’s outfit _ as the murderous ghost haunting the area.

“Demon ghost pig - what the fuck?” Tommy laughed nervously, shaking a little. “Phil, Wilbur, you’re both dickheads, I hate you both so much, why did you do this. Why did you make me do this. I’m going to become a casualty for a ‘demon ghost pig’, what the fuck even is that? That’s like the stupidest horror movie monster you could come up with.”

“Now,  _ that’s _ just hurtful.” 

**_That wasn’t Phil or Wilbur-_ **

Tommy abruptly couldn’t breathe properly. “What the -” He spun around and shoved his bedsheets away in order to make moving easier. “Who’s there?”

An  _ eight foot humanoid demon ghost pig  _ **_thing_ ** looked down on him.

“WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK-  _ HELP! PHIL, WILBUR,  _ **_HELP!_ ** ”

The thing’s ears flicked irritably. “How is one person physically capable of being this loud?” it grumbled, baring more teeth than should be in  _ anything’s _ mouth.

“I’M NOT LOUD WHY ARE YOU TALKING WHAT THE FUCK-” Tommy ran for the door, trying to open it desperately without taking his eyes off of the  _ extremely real ghost what the shit- _

“That won’t work,” it said, dangling the keys off of one hooflike finger.

“HOW DID YOU GET THE HOUSE KEYS I FUCKING HATE THIS WHAT THE FUCK!”

It had the gall to  _ laugh _ at that.

“DON’T LAUGH AT ME BITCH EXPLAIN HOW YOU DID THAT-”

_ “Really _ don’t think calling me a bitch is good for things like your long-term  _ survival… _ ” 

“Tommy? Tommy! Are you okay?” Wilbur yelled from the other side of the door.

“NO! NO I’M NOT, HELP! THERE’S A MURDER GHOST PIG AND I’M GOING TO DIE!”

“Glad to know you understand your situation,” the creature said, and when Tommy threw another glance over his shoulder blood was dripping from its teeth and nails like paint off a canvas.

“WILBUR OPEN THE DOOR-” Tommy threw himself into the door with all his strength, gasping in relief when it crashed open and he fell headlong into Wilbur.

“Where’s the murder pig? Are you alright?” Wilbur asked, his calm a stark contrast to Tommy’s panic.

“NO I’M NOT ALRIGHT,” Tommy screamed, then twisted around violently  _ “Where the fuck did it go?” _

“It’s definitely not there,” Wilbur said as Tommy continued to scan his room from top to bottom from his position on top of Wilbur in the doorway before scrambling to his feet.

“Are you so calm because you don’t believe me, Wilbur? Because I am  _ telling  _ you, it’s real!”

Wilbur sighed. “No, don’t worry, I believe you, Tommy. I believe you about earlier too. I think I know what’s happening.”

“What?!?

“We pissed off a murder pig ghost.” Wilbur snorted.

“This isn’t funny! What do you mean?”

“Well I mean earlier my ceiling was covered in eyes and then I blinked and they vanished, so either we’ve both started hallucinating  _ fucked up shit _ at the exact same time, or something else is going on. Honestly Tommy, I think I-” Wilbur clamped his mouth shut at an interruption.

“You two are quick on the uptake, aren’t you? Usually it’s nice when families bicker over my existence, but this… this might be even  _ more  _ fun.” The shadowy form of a red clad pig loomed over the two foster brothers.

Wilbur gulped. “I was actually just going to propose the theory that we all accidentally ate some hallucinogen, but…”

The thing threw back its head and laughed. “That, that makes more sense.”

“Tommy, do you see the same thing I do?”

“If you mean the giant pig man dressed like a king with a massive fucking meat cleaver then  _ yes _ ,” Tommy hissed at a surprisingly subdued volume.

“Heh? Where’d the screaming go?” 

“I can scream if you want, BITCH!” Tommy grabbed Wilbur’s arm and took off running down the hallway, dragging him with a vise grip.

They heard a faint “W-what?” from behind them.

“Tommy, Tommy, you managed to be so chaotic that you confused a  _ pig demon ghost monster  _ into not killing us immediately. I’m never going to complain about you  _ ever  _ again. You are the l-light of my li-”

“TALKING LATER, RUNNING NOW!”

“We need to- to get ouh-houtside, or- get Phil,” Wilbur panted.

Tommy turned the corner to the stairs and let go of Wilbur for a few seconds in order to balance well enough to run down them. “PHIL! PHIL!”

Blood started seeping from the walls. A shadow blocked out the lamplight from the top of the stairwell. 

_ “You think you can run?”  _ the monster snarled,

“I- am- running,- so- yes!” Wilbur shouted, and booked it after Tommy to the first floor.

“ _ Oh I hate these guys. I really hate these guys. _ ”

Tommy’s laugh bordered on hysteria.

“PHIL!” Wilbur and Tommy were both shouting now.

“What?” His slightly muffled voice came from the kitchen, and Tommy burst in on him eating ice cream out of the carton as if he was a caricature of a twenty year old woman struggling with her love life.

“GIANT EVIL MURDER PIG PHIL WHERE’S YOUR SWORD WHERE’S YOUR  _ SWORD-” _ Tommy didn’t slow down after entering, looking around frantically as if if he looked hard enough the sword would materialise out of thin air.

“Ummm…”

“PHIL HE’S TELLING THE TRUTH I SWEAR IT'S TRUE  _ WHERE'S YOUR SWORD-"  _ Wilbur burst into the room only a few steps behind Tommy, breathing heavily. 

“Oh. Wait.  _ Wait.  _ I just saw a pig carcass in the fridge and then it disappeared, was that-”

“Yeah, I’m suddenly  _ way _ more inclined to believe that Tommy saw blood everywhere in that cursed slaughterhouse,” Wilbur said distractedly. “Regardless, time to  _ GO!” _

“Oh. Oh fuck.” Phil jumped out of his seat and gestured for Wil and Tommy to follow him. “Sword’s through in the living room!”

A bloody hand blocked their way. “I’d rather not be stabbed tonight, if it’s all the same to you?” the monster tilted its head, clearly mocking them.

Tommy screamed at the top of his lungs.

Phil said “What the fuck.”

Wilbur just focused on not hyperventilating.

Tommy tried to kick the monster in the shins, like the true genius he was. Wilbur held him back.

“Tommy, no! _ Run!” _

“I’VE BEEN RUNNING! THIS BITCH CHEATS!”

“Today was the first time I’ve been called a bitch to my face. I think I’ll kill you slowly for that.”

Wilbur snarled. “Fuck you!” Then he threw a glass pitcher into the pig’s face. It shattered on impact, blood beading up in little red lines. 

"… You're going to regret that."

_ Oh, shit. _

It stalked up to Wilbur. Slowly. He already couldn’t breathe before it closed a hand around his neck and squeezed softly.

“I could kill you so, so easily,” it whispered. “Do you have  _ any  _ idea how fragile humans are? All I’d have to do is squeeze a  _ little _ more...”

It lifted him slightly off the ground.

Tommy kicked and punched ineffectually at its side. “Kill me, not Wilbur! Come on,  _ I’m _ the one that insulted you, don’t you dare do this to him, don’t kill Wilbur, you  _ can’t _ kill Wilbur,  _ please- _ ”

He couldn’t see Phil at all.

“A brother’s love,” the beast mocked. “Sweet.”

“I’m not even his brother,  _ bitch. _ Yeah, I said it again.”

“Not by  _ blood, _ maybe…” it mused, claws almost  _ gently _ puncturing his neck, hot blood staining its hands and his neck as his lungs  _ burned _ with the need to breathe.

“You’re a bitch! You’re such a bitch! What’re you going to do about me, huh? Huh, bitchboy?”

Its ears flicked with annoyance, Wilbur’s only warning through the blackness creeping into his vision was a momentary tensing in the arm holding him in the air before he was bodily thrown into Tommy with enough force to bowl them both over.

“Oh my god, Wilbur, Wilbur,  _ Wilbur!” _ Tommy shook him by the shoulder as he desperately coughed and gasped, trying to suck in more air than his lungs could physically hold. Wilbur couldn’t get any words out as he tried to desperately breathe, but he wrapped his arms around Tommy and held tightly.

Tommy’s brief joy was overtaken with fear when a hand took a handful of his hair and  _ yanked _ his head back, pressing the corner of the cleaver into his cheek.  _ Fuck,  _ it was right underneath his eye. 

“Would you rather keep your right or left,  _ Tommy _ ?”

“B-both isn’t an option?” he choked out. “This is such a bitch move that you’ve risen in the rank of bitches. Bitch.”

Wilbur shook his head frantically, but common sense was no match for Tommy on the mother of all adrenaline rushes.

“I mean, I can  _ take _ both, if that’s what you mean,” the monster said, eye twitching. “Seems like you want that option.”

“It’s better than going along with you!”

It raised the cleaver.

_ “Don’t you fucking dare,” _ Phil hissed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ranboo my beloved - Glitch


End file.
